


Harmony and Wisdom

by orphan_account



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Jon could take control of his dreams, everything would be much easier. Until then, he'll have to settle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harmony and Wisdom

The water pouring over Jon was cool—not cold, exactly (he couldn’t stand cold showers, even in the name of getting rid of uncomfortable post wet-dream erections) but certainly not warm enough to be relaxing. He was steadfastly ignoring said erection; choosing instead to focus on running his body wash over his shoulders and chest. Yeah, he could focus on that. Just getting’ clean, smellin’ good (Arin smells like strawberries when they fall against the wall, mouths seeking any flesh they can find on each other, desperate for contact)

  
Okay, so not that. Concentrate on singing. Jon was really good at singing. He was good at getting lost in characters. He turned to face the water so his conditioner could sit for a minute (that was a gay thing to do, he knew, but his hair would get really frizzy without a good deep condition and—oh fuck, who was he kidding?) and started to hum.

  
“I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair, I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair, I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair,” He sang. “And send him on his way!” He turned and did just that, massaging the conditioner out of his hair and down the drain. “I’m gonna wave that man right out of my arms,” He wasn’t thinking about Arin. “I’m gonna wave that man right outta my arms,” He wasn’t thinking about Arin. He was thinking about musical theatre. He was thinking about (bare, bony heels digging into the small of his back, drawing him close so that he’s in balls deep) South Pacific. Yes, the OBC was the best. Right. He started mentally going through his bulleted list of reasons that the original was best as he sang.

  
“If a man don’t understand you,” His voice grew louder as he attempted to redirect his train of thought. “If you fly on separate beams! Waste no time, make a change,” He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to dream about Arin bent over, and Arin on his knees, and Arin in panties, and Arin in nothing at all (or better yet, Arin in him).

  
“Ride that man right off your range!” He belted. If Arin ever found out, it would ruin everything. Jon couldn’t risk it. It was dangerous for him to let himself moon over his best friend. He would talk himself into believing that it was okay for him to feel this way about Arin, or worse, that it was okay to tell Arin. The thought made him nauseous. He’d lost track of the song. He’d been in the shower for at least twenty minutes already and the water was only getting colder, but his erection persisted. He swore under his breath.

  
This had all started about a month ago, when they had been drunk at karaoke and Arin thought it would be funny to grind all over Jon like a fucking stripper. At the time, he had thought it was funny, too. But then he started having weird dreams and thoughts that he hadn’t ever had about men before, until finally a week later, Arin’s face that night while he’d danced (lips parted, hair sticking to his face just a tiny bit, flushed from the booze and the heat) popped into his head while he was having some “private time” and changed everything.

  
He’d never orgasmed like that in his life. He’d ended up breathless and dizzy for a good ten minutes, lying back on his bed and trying to comprehend what had just happened. The faceless figure he’d recently been encountering in his dreams developed Arin’s features. He started waking up on the verge of coming, sweaty and with cramped hands from clutching at air all night.

  
He knew this wasn’t going to work. He exhaled, leaning heavily against the shower wall. His eyes squeezed shut as he began to trail his hand down his chest, biting the inside of his lip to try and chase away the guilt he felt at giving in to the urge to finish himself off. He was only human.

  
“Shit.” He hissed as he closed his hand around his shaft. Immediately, images from the night before floated to the forefront of his mind. Arin pressing him down onto the couch, dancing in his lap, rocking their hips together and taking off his clothes tortuously slowly, wearing that little shit-eating smirk the whole damn time. He brushed the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock, inhaling sharply and letting his head loll back against the tiled shower wall.

  
“Fuuuuck, Arin.” He groaned, pumping his fist rapidly, jumping forward in his fantasy to the point where he bends Arin over the arm of the couch and holds him by the hair and demands that Arin fuck himself on his dick. In his mind, Arin moans and begs; his thighs spread wantonly to allow Jon easy access to his pale, round ass. Jon held back a growl, his eyes pinched so tightly shut that he could see spots.

  
Arin tosses his head and moves his hips, sliding perfectly over Jon’s cock, his mouth hanging open while he makes the most incredible sounds. Jon knows first hand the kind of noise Arin can make—he’s sure he must sound incredible in bed. Jon made a guttural noise, slowing his strokes as he came dangerously close to the edge. He wanted to hold out a tiny bit longer.

  
Jon imagined Arin tied to his headboard, his wrists up above his head so that his naked form was laid prone before him. He would lift one of those long, thin legs onto his shoulder and fuck Arin hard enough that he wouldn’t be able to walk straight. And Arin, of course, would love it.  
Jon began to pick up speed once more, his legs feeling weak beneath him. He was burning up, despite the icy water pouring over him. He was out of breath, panting and thrusting into his hand frantically as he drew close to his climax. He could almost hear Arin moaning for him, begging for him—and that did it. Jon shouted Arin’s name, his free hand balling into a fist against the slick tiles as he came. For a long time he stood there, leaning heavily on the wall as he caught his breath.  
“God damn it.” He swore, sticking his hand up closer to the showerhead to clean it off. “God damn it.” He repeated. He hadn’t wanted this. He never asked for this. He wanted Arin—God only knew how much he fucking wanted him—but he couldn’t have him.

  
He stepped out of the shower, toweling off in front of the mirror before he began combing his hair out. He paused and looked at himself, taking in his fresh faced, bright-eyed look. Huh. It was ironic that he looked better than he ever had before his weird crush started. He used to have trouble staying asleep, and since he’d starting dreaming about Arin on a nightly basis, he’d been consistently getting eight hours of sleep. His dark circles had disappeared, and he felt better than he had in a long time.

  
“I’m so fuckin’ emo.” He said to his reflection. He giggled like an idiot. “What the fuck is this, Spring Awakening?” His self-deprecation helped to ground him. This wasn’t such a big deal. Everything would be fine. He would be fine.

  
“We’ll work that silver magic and we’ll aim it at the wall.” He muttered, gathering his discarded PJs and heading back to his bedroom. At least he could say that his passion for musicals wasn’t the gayest thing about him, now.


End file.
